5/11/09

sin título

This push-pull
Eventual
Petrification
Binds me,
Like a vice,
To your
Loose moral fibers.

There is no security,
In that
Though I hold tightly,
When you unravel,
I am crushed
Again.

And again,
I ask not
For you to
Give to me
Your hand,
Or a pull,
But rather,
Not a push.

My ambivalence
Tells me not
To walk a way,
Any way,
But to remain
Where I,
Not wanted,
See myself
On the floor
In pieces
We'd both
As soon ignore.

11 comments:

Fredrick Schwartz said...

Why did that make me smile and cry at the same time?

Randal Graves said...

I like this, and since its root lies in rancid earth, am I a jerk for being happy (?) that rancid earth exists, for here is its flower?

Comrade Kevin said...

is ambivalence
the default setting
to that which
so often drives
our whole focus?

GETkristiLOVE said...

Beautiful.

Steve said...

funny how so many times all we ask for is not teh push and people just dont understand that.

Lisa said...

Your talent is right here.

Utah Savage said...

Nicely done, Ms Bee. You are a poet. I didn't know it. How could I have missed it?

Devilham said...

that was very heartfelt, normally I am indifferent to poetry, but that actually made me feel something. I would say nice work, but it sounds so sad

Distributorcap said...

nice poem
tattered curtain

Anonymous said...

I love it ! Very creative ! That's actually really cool Thanks.

Anonymous said...

I love it ! Very creative ! That's actually really cool Thanks.